Necropotence
by Chicary
Summary: Duty and choice aren't mutually exclusive and it can be difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins. Avishipping if you squint. For Elficiel.


**AN:** This story is written for Elficiel as my part of an art/fanfic trade. Except that she was quick with her part and I was painfully slow. Sorry this took so long, hope you enjoy!

**Necropotence**

At the age of five years, beneath the earth and away from the sun, Ishizu plays pretend.

She gathers the scraps of cloths from her older brother's sewing and makes herself rag dolls to coddle, feed and love. She gathers sticks and stones and refines the art of crafting them into homes so her dolls can stay safe and warm.

Her bedroom, the smaller one in the corner two rooms away from her baby brother's, is its own world. But it is not the world of dusty tunnels, shapeless shifts, or countless shades of beige, rather it is one of a world she, at this age, could only imagine.

* * *

Three years later and Ishizu's bedroom is littered with partially unfurled scrolls and speckled with stubborn ink stains. She is a woman, but more importantly, the firstborn of the proud Ishtar clan. Her studies are the greatest indicator of her status. Her dolls, fewer now than years before, are seated patiently at a corner of her bed, her dollhouses removed to make room for the paraphernalia of a student.

Her father does not believe she is too young to know the fatigue of being a student and when she rests her head on her folded arms for just a moment's (just _one short_ moment's) rest, the faded images on her scrolls come to life. She dreams of a lavish court, thick and beautiful fabrics of rich colours, delicate ornaments of jade and obsidian and of enormous open windows that welcome the light. She dreams of princes and kings dressed in gold and of a hero with a crown of hair made of fire.

* * *

She doesn't believe that the Pharaoh lost his name. It must be somewhere amongst these ancient texts, probably half-faded away or documented in the form of a code. For one who'd saved the world all those thousands of years ago, whose tomb she resided in and whose life she studied day and night, she knew next to nothing about the man.

It would have been nice to know his name. It would have been nice to have something to write down, to give a label to her doodles. It could have been a good luck charm for her. Not that she really believes in luck but, still, it would have been nice.

* * *

The only likeness of him, that she is aware of, is carved into a massive stone tablet. He stands facing his ally and rival, the High Priest Seto. Behind him is his ace monster, the Black Magician, and behind Seto is the legendary white dragon. Beneath his feet is a terrible scar where his name had been stricken off. She touches her fingers over the desecrated stone, hoping with futility that something would still be there.

Ishizu reaches up and traces the lines of his image with her finger, standing on the tips of her toes to do so. According to what she'd learned, the Pharaoh was very young when he died. She wonders what became of him after his soul was sealed away. She wonders if time still passes for him and how it must feel to wait for so long. And she's embarrassed because she suddenly wonders if the he knew she touched his image.

Around her all is dark and quiet. Particles of dust swirl gently where small pockets of light make them visible. She looks around once, twice, and quickly scurries out of the room. She'd make her way to her bedroom, bare feet cold and dusty from the stone ground, and slip into her bed. She'd pull the thin blanket up to her nose and lay awake well into the night. Thoughts of an omnipresent pharaoh would keep her up until her eyes droop shut and she falls into restless doze. In the morning, she would not be sure if her nightly venture actually happened.

* * *

The first time she realizes she truly fears the Pharaoh is when she first hears of the Tombkeeper's Initiation Rite and sees her father's back. The scars have gracelessly healed over the years, leaving a mass of hardened white lines that render the original message nearly unreadable. She recoils at the sight of it. Her brother, now nine years of age, cries silently. He tries his best to hold it in but his nose begins to run and he sniffles loudly as he wipes it on his sleeves.

She tries to bury this knowledge but it weighs heavily upon her. She knows it's constantly on her brother's mind and, at nine years of age, his carefree days have expired.

* * *

She's disturbed by the hours upon hours of screaming, which are ruthlessly amplified by the echoes from the stone walls. When she prays, she prays to forget, for that blissful state of ignorance that paved the only path to total freedom. When the screaming finally ceases, there's a ringing in her ears that seem to last for days.

* * *

Rishid is terribly hurt and her father is dead, murdered before her eyes. Time stops and she can't move. Her little brother's hands are stained with blood but he refuses to let go of the weapon. It's the Sennen Rod and this is the first time she's seen it away from the shrine; the first time she's seen it without the film of grime and dust and the small cobwebs that kept it in its place.

In her mind, she's screaming but it isn't until the vice of fear relinquishes its hold just a little bit that she can hear her own voice. She begs her little brother to stop, hurls words at that unfamiliar face as if they'd have an impact.

She then thinks to give up, to let it end because everything is out of her hands and she's too exhausted to keep trying. But then Rishid's arms are around her little brother and the Rod is dropped with a heavy clank on the ground. Malik is shaken, as if he had not been the one to draw blood.

The transparent form of a man comes out of the wall and tells them of the coming of the Pharaoh. He looks familiar and she has a faint hope that he would help, but he leaves abruptly, seemingly oblivious to their suffering.

Around her is a profound brokenness that chips her bones and frays her nerves. When she becomes numb, she finally knows for sure that there is a god.

* * *

Malik inevitably decides to leave the tomb and Rishid follows him. Ishizu is beckoned by her older brother to follow, but he leaves little instruction.

She has prematurely inherited the Sennen Necklace and its constant presence is a great discomfort to her. Her mind is cluttered with noises and images that she doesn't understand, but Ishizu also knows that the Necklace would be her best ally if she lets it.

She leaves. Soon, she'd contribute to the excavation of her home and its wealth of dusty secrets. She would take part in pulling into the light all the things she'd helped kept hidden in the dark and she would do so with practiced detachment and a firm denial of any connection she'd had here.

* * *

Her transition to the world above is clumsy and the Necklace is both a help and a hindrance. It serves to protect her life in much the same way a parasite protects its host. At the same time, Ishizu can only see the distant future, the one in which the Pharaoh emerges and her brother challenges him. She wants to – needs to – know how to enroll in a university, obtain student loans, and open a bank account. Instead, she sees wind-whipped faces, thousands of miles in the air surrounded by darkness and creatures ready to murder.

Ishizu knows that the Necklace is challenging her. Those who successfully wield the Sennen Items must first prove their worth. Being an Ishtar isn't enough. Knowing the Scriptures inside and out isn't enough. Being a descendent of a member of the Pharaoh's court isn't enough.

Ishizu struggles but does not relent to the challenge. In the end, she earns the Necklace's respect and can sleep at night once more.

* * *

_And, once in a while, when she is thoroughly exhausted and makes a bed out of her textbooks, she dreams of the prince with the hair made of fire. He sits by the tranquil waters, refreshed and cool amidst the scorching land and beacons her to sit and drink. He takes her calloused hands in his and tells her that he will help. _

It is usually at this point that she wakes up, the calmness of the dream still vivid but the prince's face bleached from her mind. Her memory always grasps for every detail it can but this dream is always forgotten entirely by dawn.

* * *

Her hair and make-up are perfect; her linen dress devoid of any wrinkles. She faces the camera while the blazing studio lights beat down on her.

As soon as she speaks, she knows she has caught her younger brother's attention.

* * *

It takes a little bit more effort to catch Seto Kaiba's.

* * *

Somewhere in the city, the Pharaoh is sleeping. Ishizu, wide-awake, watches the nocturnal life of the city from her office window. It is beautiful, serene, and almost pitifully unaware. She tries to remember when she's felt peace in her heart but cannot recall. She lives too much for the future for the past to have a fighting chance.

* * *

In all honestly, she is disheartened that he has forgotten so much. There's an unsettling discrepancy between the god-king her clan devoted its blood, sweat, and _life_ to and the bewildered man before her. She knows he'd forgotten, was reminded over and over again that this was part of his sacrifice to save his people. But a place in her heart is accusatory – _how dare you forget? How could you put my family through this for thousands and thousands of years and not be able to acknowledge it? To recognize us as your worthy servants? To give us your gratitude? _

_To offer an apology?_

She calmly introduces the stone tablets to the Pharaoh and beckons the Necklace to show him what she cannot speak in words. To say she doesn't share her younger brother's bitterness, at least in part, would be untrue -

* * *

- still, it is now more than ever that the tiny flicker of hope she'd held so tightly burns with strength and she thinks of calming waters and a gentle sky and a prince with hair made of fire.

She's meeting the Pharaoh in person, after all.

* * *

Unlike her brother, she operates alone. Rishid, with good reason, had sided with Malik. Ishizu, though she doesn't like to admit it, constantly feels this loneliness, not only because she's physically alone, but because no one else exists in the future the way she does. She is transposed out of the present, one arm always dipped in a time that has yet to come. And it has been this way for so long that it has come to define her.

* * *

She struggles to accept that the Pharaoh is human. Her mind automatically believes that all the anger, pain, tears and emotions are on Yugi's part. But his friends think differently, and she discreetly notices this fact.

At first, she finds it an odd and even an unresolvable contradiction to what she knows scholastically. But soon, it gives her something to think about. She's given a perspective she hasn't considered before and she's not sure what to do with it.

For the time being, she looks ahead, towards a future in which her brother is released from the evil choking him.

The details do not escape her, however, and she continues to silently notice.

* * *

The Pharaoh's closest friend is dead. To Ishizu, it was like watching a train hurl towards her while being stuck on the tracks. She pitied Jounouchi's friends and their undying (unrealistic) support for him, but admired his tenacity nonetheless.

She sees, for the first time, the Pharaoh absolutely bereft. It's uncomfortable and a little discouraging but she's surprised by her own empathy. She remembers when she was a child, pondering for the first time what it must have been like for him to let himself die, for his soul to be sealed away and not be free. In her own loneliness, she wondered if he had been lonely when he died and if his soul had been lonely wherever it went.

She sees this loneliness now; she sees a young man who'd taken the world on his shoulders (again) but struggling to hold it up. He needs his friends the way she needed her mother and brothers. He's still young, and had been young for a very long time.

Ishizu no longer has the Necklace so she doesn't know what will become of the Pharaoh's friends. But she sincerely hopes that his suffering doesn't last because things are hitting too close to home and it makes her uncomfortable.

* * *

There are too many reasons for why she doesn't want to watch the Pharaoh battle Malik, but her life has led to this moment and she can't abandon it. She's gripped by fear and uneasiness and it gnaws at her from deep inside. The Pharaoh's friends have a side to take, and Seto Kaiba is apathetic, but she hangs in limbo.

Ishizu prays a silent prayer to be free, just like she'd done during the night her younger brother received the Tombkeeper's Initiation. Like that night, she's granted no freedom. She must rely instead on that blind hope of hers, the one that continues despite the fact that she knows there has to be a winner and a loser.

* * *

Like a baby detached from its mother, joy is foreign to her. But now that the darkness has cleared and the light rains down unhindered, Ishizu is overwhelmed with joy. She feels vulnerable and strange, still geared to defend but having nothing that needs defending. Her older brother, who has always understood her best, holds her tightly. She rests in his comfort, possibly longer than she should, but he doesn't seem to mind.

And she finally gets to hold her little brother again. He's drained, defeated, and maybe a little lost, but he hasn't abandoned his will to move forward. They will rebuild, the three of them, united.

Thanks to the Pharaoh. All thanks to the Pharaoh.

* * *

A heavy debt weighs on her mind, but she suspects it's not just out of debt that she wants to see the Pharaoh again.

She has questions.

* * *

She catches a glimpse of him walking down the streets of Domino with his friends. Ishizu and her brothers are on their way to the airport; their luggage packed in the trunk of the taxi cab and the metre counting up the cost as the blocks fly by. She doesn't want it to be obvious that she's watching him disappear into the distance; doesn't want to make it obvious that she has a reason to stay behind a little longer. They're back together as a family and the chaos has past. They can rest now.

* * *

She keeps an eye on the news, at least whenever work spares her some free time. She assumes that her brothers know when she's distracted but they rarely ask why.

Malik has picked up a hobby – archery – and he's an impressive marksman. Rishid's acquired a steady work in carpentry and dabbles in various other trades when he's not working. Nowadays, Rishid does most of the cooking and seems to enjoy it. His experiments don't always turn out favorably but he has a way with seasoning.

At this point, Ishizu is just waiting. One ordinary day will pass after another until their family finally finishes their work as Tombkeepers. The unsettling part is that she doesn't know when, exactly.

* * *

_The prince with the hair of fire tells her that he needs to go home. Even here, with the cool water and clear sky, he's not where he's supposed to be. Ishizu wants to help him because he's helped her, but she doesn't know how. He looks at the water forlornly but doesn't answer any of her questions. He only admits that the water is beautiful and gives him a reason to stay, but isn't enough to keep him here. He asks her if she knows what he means._

_When she reaches to touch his arm, it is cold to the touch. His skin is icy and beneath it, there is no life. _

* * *

The Ishtars greet the Pharaoh and his friends at the airport. Pleasantries are practically a pretense. The moment is a strange one: they are closing in on a goal they've risked their lives to attain but they're afraid to cross the finish line.

The airport is a place in which the highs and lows of life collide. There is chitter-chatter of long-awaited vacations, friends' weddings, elderly relatives on their final days, and estranged loved ones who haven't seen each other in decades. It is the liaison between experiences; it bridges one purpose with another.

The group passes through the airport and boards the rented bus to their destination. Soon, they leave the city behind and find themselves flanked by vast fields of golden sand. The ride is silent, save for the rattling bus engine and occasional bump in the road caused by uneven ground.

When they arrive at the Valley of the Kings, Ishizu finds herself walking side-by-side with the Pharaoh in companionable silence. His forehead beads with sweat that rolls down the side of his face and he'd dab it away with the sleeve of his coat. There are other clues showing that the Pharaoh isn't used to the intense heat, but he doesn't address them. His friends, save for one, are the same way.

The tomb itself is an oven. They endure the thick, muggy air until they reach a particular chamber, which is oddly cool. Before them the sarcophagus rests regally on a dais, on its surface are grooves, which house the Sennen Items. The sight of it brings back bitter memories. Behind the sarcophagus, the Eye of Wdjat bears down on them from a massive stone gate that divides the world of the living from that of the dead.

This would be the first, and maybe the last time, Ishizu would see the Pharaoh face his vessel in a body of his own. She pays attention to the details; notices that he wants to savor the short moment but knows that he can't. Beside her, her brothers are straight-backed and determined because they have a clear goal in mind. Ishizu cannot say the same for herself but she watches on anyways.

Later on, this will be referred to as the Ceremonial Duel.

* * *

The massive doors creak open and intense white light spills through. Everyone moves to shield their eyes. For the gang, this is the furthest they will glimpse into death without crossing into it themselves.

The Ishtars draw back as the Pharaoh's close friends bid their good-byes. Some are accepting of his departure, others not quite as much. Ishizu pities Yugi the most even though she can barely begin to understand the nature of the bond between them.

As servants, it is not their family's place to speak. On top of that, the Pharaoh had done far more for them than they deserved. It's best to let him cross over in peace, to not give him a reason to linger any longer. It's the best way to show their gratitude, so Ishizu does just that.

* * *

Had the tomb not collapsed afterwards, Ishizu would have considered retiring there. It wasn't so much out of some sort of unresolved sense of duty as it was an odd, but real, nostalgia. The Ishtars' destiny wasn't as clear-cut as those who've known them thought it was. Choice and duty weren't mutually exclusive and it was difficult to say where one ended and the other began.

Ishizu knows Malik would disagree. But things were more complicated for Rishid. Rishid had grown up relying heavily on fate because it had been fate that saved his life. He so seldom voiced his own opinion that one has to wonder if he'd given up that part of himself entirely. Rishid was neither happy nor sad; sometimes he was content, but that seemed to be the extent of it.

However, the siblings agreed that they had a mother whom they loved and who'd loved them. Even Malik believed he experienced this love from deep inside the womb. They also had a father they'd respected, not because this respect was forced on them, but because he'd been trapped in his own life of sacrifice and duty and knew of nothing else but to expect the same out of his children.

Malik wants little to do with his life as a Tombkeeper, but he chooses to retain a few things from his childhood, including his jewelry and some of the toys Rishid had made for him. Rishid, who was more a brother to them than a servant, still plays the more docile role in the family without complaint.

Ishizu longs for a time when she still heard her mother's voice and believed the Great Pharaoh's life had been more fantastical that it actually was. She longs for that ridiculous imagination she had and all those vivid dreams that seemed so real. But most of all, she longs for closure; to know that she'd done well and maybe that –

* * *

_He's not dead, but alive. He is so full of youth and joy and undiluted bliss that it's contagious. She asks if he's happy and he says he is. She asks of he would turn back for any reason and he says he would not. She asks if he remembers his past life and he seems to remember it with fondness. When he sees her confusion, he tells her that this life is a destination and that, sooner or later, everyone will arrive. He will wait for his friends but, until they come, he will let himself be happy._

* * *

She doesn't get the chance to retire where she'd grown up, but she does find another quaint and private place to spend the last of her days. She chooses a modest seaside home by the Mediterranean Sea where she lives above a newlywed couple and below an elderly one. It's warm, like the rest of Egypt, and the breeze is blissful and the view is magnificent.

Her brothers chose to live in the city. Malik had married and moved where work took him and Rishid wasn't too far away (he had a knack for finding work no matter where he moved). It seemed Rishid hadn't let go of his old ways and didn't seem to mind either.

Ishizu keeps up with the news and her subscription to _Abgadiyat _and it's always a delight to see her name surface amongst academic circles. She still receives mail, most of them asking for donations and sponsorship, but some from thoughtful former students and colleagues who'd made the extra effort to send her something she could hold in her hands. She _Skypes_ her family when their schedules align and sends her nieces thoughtful gifts that she hopes would enrich their lives.

Every night she falls asleep to the ebb and flow of the sea and the faint scent of damp sand. The water rocks her gently, like her mother's arms had done so all those years ago. And she's taken to that place where she'd met the prince with the hair made of fire. She comes and goes, each stay longer than the last. Then, one day, she arrives at that place and makes a home for herself because she knows, somehow, that she'd never leave again.

**-End-**

**AN: **According to images I found on Google, Mediterranean homes are far from modest so I took creative liberties with this one.

_Abgadiyat _is a scientific journal issued by the Bibliotheca Alexandrina Calligraphy Center, and it aims at publishing the recent discoveries and trends in calligraphy, writing and inscriptions throughout the ages.

_Necropotence _is a card from _Magic the Gathering_. I choose it because it feels like an appropriate title for the nature of this story.


End file.
